The Way We Are
by xhesaidshesaidx
Summary: You tried when no one else did, because you didn't see her like others. You weren't intimidated. Matter of fact, it was almost like you saw her as a reflection of yourself even though to the naked eye the two of you couldn't appear to be more opposite.
1. Part I

_Suggested Cade; Catorade friendship_

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><p><strong>The Way We Are<strong>

_By xHeSaidSheSaidx_

There were several things one could say they didn't really understand about you. One was the world you had created for yourself that you seemed to escape to whenever something went wrong, whether it was a poor grade on a test or the passing of your favorite actress. But your world also existed when you were joyful. You would speak of instances where your brother did some pretty weird actions, and when you told your stories they often didn't make too much sense, but you would giggle in delight to yourself anyways; the confused looks we exchanged amongst ourselves whenever you spoke didn't matter.

But if there was one thing that was the hardest thing for me and the rest of us to understand, it was the deep care you had for _her_.

Don't get me wrong. I understand that care is an essential part of friendship. It was the fact that you chose to implement her into your friendship circle that perplexed us all. I say us because I didn't get it at first. It was incomprehensible to me. I was the late bloomer of course; the new kid, the odd one out. The one with the least amount of knowledge of anything that went on in the school. By the time I arrived, you had already been close with her for a year. But much like with her, you were quick to welcome me into your life. You were just that kind of person. She wasn't.

It took me months to really understand the connection between you and her thanks to the talks me and you used to have, and even now, though you're gone, I still find myself learning new things about it every day.

You weren't intimidated by her like everyone else. Matter of fact, it was almost like you saw her as a reflection of yourself even though to the naked eye the two of you couldn't appear to be more opposite. While people were avoiding her, choked by their own fear, they asked you what you saw in her as a person and you told them that we don't see things the way they are; we see things the way we are, so the only people who judged her, were the ones that should be judging themselves.

I asked you one day what in the world you even meant by your statement, and that was the day that I realized that there was a lot more to you than people gave you credit for. Whether you learned your complexity from her or someone else I'll never be sure, all I know is on that day when you gave me your first deeply thought out answer, I wanted to know more.

You told me that it's bad to not like someone based on what you hear about them not because it's mean, but because it shows what we really think of ourselves as individuals. "If you're going to call someone the B word for no reason, the true B word is you" you said. "If you look past someone's flaws and see them as a good person, that makes you a good person."

Your logic was simple enough; nothing I hadn't really heard before. It was the way you had packed those ideas into your overall statement: "We don't see things the way they are. We see them the way WE are."

I still wasn't entirely sure how that really related to your connection with her, but I understood it more the more time you spent discussing certain parts of it.

I remember the story of how you two met, mostly because when you told me, you had this certain glow about your face that proved that just talking about your first experiences with simply _knowing _her brought you delight.

You were walking home one night from a late final dress rehearsal for a play you were starring in the next day, when a car stopped you.

When that strange old man pulled over to ask if you needed a ride with a crooked smile showing yellow teeth, you panicked, but you played it surprisingly safe. You told him no thank you; that you were already home, and began your march up the nearest random set of porch steps just so he'd go away. You told me you were hoping he'd drive off before you actually had to knock on the front door itself, pretending you'd forgotten your house key, but there was no such luck. It wasn't until after you rang the doorbell of the house whose occupants you had no idea and the door was swung open that he finally left.

"It was her mom that answered the door," you told me. "But all I saw at first was a nice enough looking lady, but she was on her way out the door and looked like she was in a hurry so she just ushered me inside and then left, talking on her cell phone."

She was a busy woman. You became so intrigued by her. When she ushered you into her home and left, a girl about your age peered up at you, the stranger in her home, from her spot on the couch. As a matter of fact, you'd seen the girl around before. She was in your first period class at school.

After staring at you confusedly for a moment, she asked you unwelcomingly what you were doing there. The way you described the confrontation to me, she seemed unfriendly to you, which I could've expected, but it seemed like she at least knew who you were as well. I think it was that point when you began to relax a little; at least you hadn't stepped foot into an even creepier persons home than that old man who offered you a ride. You may not have known the girl well, but you were just relieved to see a familiar face. That woman, who had rushed out the door in her business attire and her phone in hand, turned out to be her mother.

You found out later that her mother assumed you were her daughter's friend, and that's why she let you in without question. That and she was in a hurry. You answered the girl's question by briefly explaining the truth of why you showed up at her door, and her response was "so if I see some old rapist hanging around my house in the future, I know I'll have you to blame."

You hadn't thought of that in the middle of your panic when you'd made your rash decision to pretend her house was yours just to throw off the old man. You felt terrible upon the realization that she could have a point, and the house seemed eerily silent and unoccupied since the woman that answered the door had left; much different from the loud, active home of your own you were so used to, largely thanks to your hyperactive brother.

Your friendly instincts kicked into gear then. You took a seat on the couch opposite her and began asking her questions about her life. Interest was the last thing she expressed in you, but that didn't stop you from making light hearted conversation.

You walked into her house that night only knowing her name, having heard your first period teacher address her by it. You left her house that night about half an hour later knowing her name and one other thing you'd managed to get out of her somewhere in the middle of the conversation you'd attempted to get going. Her mom was a talent scout; she was rushing off that day to a college performance she'd been invited to. You tried to get more responses out of her about her mother's line of work but her responses to anything you asked were short and choppy; 7 words at most. She wanted you gone, you could tell. She wasn't comfortable with you being there, and while a part of didn't understand why she was being standoffish with you, another part couldn't blame her. You were a random stranger in her home after all.

You left her house with every intention to just go about your own life from then on and let her go about hers, but not before turning around when you reached the front door and asking her if she was planning on going to the play the following night at school. You didn't tell her you were starring in it, but posters had been up promoting it for the last month, so maybe she already knew.

You waited for her response but she did nothing more than turn up the volume on her television without a glance back at you. The last thing her lack of a response did was faze you.

"Well, you should come," you told her. I could almost hear the smile in your voice when you told me the story of that day.

She still said nothing, so you thanked her for her time and left, jogging the rest of the way home as quickly as possible in hopes of avoiding another encounter with any other strange men driving the streets of Hollywood Heights.

The night of your play, you looked out into your applauding audience after the final scene wrapped up and it was time for the curtain call. For a split second, you swore you saw a flash her brown hair in one of the middle rows. You strained your eyes to get a better look, but as quick as you thought you saw the flash, it was gone, lost in the sea of your audience.

"That night changed my life," you told me, beaming in the moment as you reminisced. After the curtain call, you were greeted by your own parents backstage along with celebratory hugs from your cast mates and even a bouquet of roses that had been thrust randomly into your palm between hugs.

It wasn't the dozens of "great job's!" or "I'm so proud of you's!" that changed your life. It wasn't even the triple scoop ice cream cone your parents took you out for afterwards that did it, or the fact that afterwards you were almost immediately offered a leading role in the next school production.

It happened when you were in your dressing room, perched in front of your mirror, removing the fake eyelashes that your costume had required for your part. The sudden knock on the door made your heart jump in surprise, but you were quick to leap off your chair and answer it. You recognized the woman immediately, though you'd only seen her for five seconds if that the previous day. She stuck her hand out to you and greeted you by name, introducing herself as Susan. She asked you if you had a few minutes.

You nodded, remembering from your attempted chat with her daughter that she was a talent scout.

A few minutes soon turned into half an hour, then 45 minutes, and before either of you knew it, you spent almost an hour talking to her about your performance that evening, her line of work, and the thing that stuck out to you the most that evening; her daughter. Your parents came knocking on your dressing room door a couple of times, asking if you were almost ready to go, and you somehow managed to casually shrug them off each time.

Susan told you that she was a talent scout indeed, and she did a lot of her work at college and high school performances. She told you that although she was impressed with your performance that evening, she was really more interested in your visit to her house the previous day.

"I came home last night and the first thing my daughter asked me was why I let you into my house," she told you with a light laugh. "The truth is, I didn't really think about it. I just thought you were one of her friends from school. I was in such a rush that it didn't even really strike me until later that she… doesn't really _have_ too many friends. But she told me what happened, why you were there. Did you tell your parents about it?"

You shook your head in response to her question, explaining that you didn't want to worry them because then, they might not let you walk places ever again because of the creepy old man. And you loved walking. Aside from singing and performing, your other passion was being outside, just spending time in the sunlight. You loved your walks too much to risk getting them taken away from you.

"Well," Susan said to you that night, "since I am a talent scout, I was sitting next to your principal in the audience tonight. He told me you participate in the school a lot. You're a busy girl, well liked and… truth be told, you're the only person that's willingly tried to hold a conversation with my daughter in the longest time."

"She's nice," you told the woman, not knowing at first if you really meant it or if you were just saying it out of politeness and respect for her and her daughter. It wasn't like at the time you really knew too much about her daughter to really have a judgment though. She hadn't given you too many responses the night before. Susan gave you an awkward smile, as if she wondered whether or not she should believe it.

"Did she come to the play tonight?" you wondered next. That was when things got really interesting, you recalled to me. Susan told you that the girl showed up during the final act, but disappeared at curtain call. You smiled. So you were right; you _had _seen her there.

"I asked her what you talked about after I left besides the reason you showed up. She probably wouldn't want me to tell you this, but I could tell she was trying to act nonchalant about you being there and telling her to come to the play, but I saw something different in her. I think she was trying to hide the fact that she was glad to have you there."

At that point in the conversation, you weren't sure what to say. The girl didn't seem too ecstatic to have you in her house, not like that had put you off or anything. You were always ready to see the good in people, take them in as your friend. That was something even I noticed in you in the way you acted towards me my first day at Hollywood Arts. You were always so welcoming, and I think that was something you were just naturally doing that day with her without even realizing it at first yourself.

You let Susan continue, and before long, you knew exactly what she was getting at. She wanted you to be her daughter's friend. You could see it in her eyes; the concern she had for her. The eyes that were similar in color and shape to hers that you had noticed when she sat on the couch with her eyes trained on the TV screen. Susan just wanted her daughter to be happy, she just thought she needed a friend, but she knew she would never go out and make the effort herself, and there you were, so friendly and welcoming, and you'd actually set foot in her house and tried to make conversation with the girl on your own. You were the perfect candidate.

She didn't bribe you with potential fame or offer another incentive. I know you wouldn't have accepted anyways. You knew friendship couldn't come with a price. But you found yourself smiling again at Susan; the simple thought of making a new friend made you happy. You loved making new friends. The realization that the girl probably didn't have any for a reason never once struck your mind. You were just warmed at the thought of making someone else happy.

Your task began the next day. You had noticed before that the girl was often late to first period, so you waited outside your classroom door. People filed past you into the room. Some said good morning. Some asked why you were standing there. All of them people you considered as friends.

By 7:44, you were still there, fidgeting. You were two minutes away of being late to class, which rarely ever happened for you. At 7:45, there she was. She spotted you as she approached, ducking her head the moment she saw you in attempt to get by you without having to converse. You remembered what her mom said about how she often seemed to mask her gladness, so you didn't let her by. You slid in front of the door, blocking her way.

"Hi!" you greeted her. She blinked at you, crossing her arms and shifting her bag on her shoulder.

"Move."

You knew she wasn't going to give up the uninterested act anytime soon. But you also realized the possibility that maybe it wasn't an act after all; maybe her mom was totally wrong, and she honestly had zero interest in pursuing any kind of possible friendship with you or anyone else and she really did want to be left alone. But something kept you from giving up that easily. How could someone be okay with not having a friend? You wanted to know.

"Well, um. I was just thinking, maybe you'd like to come with me after school to that place across the street and get an ice cream. I need someone to walk with."

The bell rang and you flinched, but remained standing in place. Ah well. You were already late, and she didn't seem to care. She was too busy knitting her brows at you.

"So ask someone else," she told you flatly. You responded by saying you thought _she _should come with you, but she still didn't seem to be on board for making your task easy.

"I don't even know you."

"Yeah you do silly; you're in my class, and I was at your house the other day!"

Humor was always your way of trying to make things less awkward.

She was silent for a moment, pondering your statement. Finally, she spoke again.

"If I say yes, will you get out of my way?"

That was her way of accepting your invitation in a way that didn't appear too ecstatic, you told me. I believed you, because after a while, though I still haven't gotten to know her nearly as well as you ended up doing, it was obvious to me how much she cared about you, just from my own perspective, and based on everything you told me, she seemed to actually enjoy your company from the start.

You smiled at her. "Of course. Let's meet at the front entrance?"

"….Fine."

When you slid out of her way and she pushed the door open to step inside, it was the first time you experienced the strange looks that often became thrown your way the more you started hanging out with her. You entered the class right behind her, and even though you took your individual seats on opposite sides of the room, it was apparently obvious to the class that the two of you were late because of each other, especially when the teacher asked you why you were late. He probably didn't ask her because he was used to her being late all the time, but for you it was a new instance.

"We were talking," you had told him.

"You and who?"

"Me and Jade."

You didn't even notice the surprised and slightly disturbed glances that were thrown your way and her way until she told you about them later.

You looked for her that day at lunch, but she was nowhere to be found. Your friend Robbie, who later became mine as well, curiously asked why you were talking to her before class that morning.

"Because she's my friend," you told him with a smile. His eyes widened behind his thick framed glasses.

"Since when?"

You smiled again, having no shame. "Today, she will be."

School ended at 2:15, and by 2:20 sharp you were waiting for her at the front entrance, just like you'd said. Some people stopped to talk to you, and you got so caught up in conversation that you didn't even notice that ten minutes had passed and she still hadn't showed up. You waited another 20 minutes before realizing she probably wasn't going to show up at all. You decided then that maybe she had already went across the street and was waiting for _you_ at the ice cream shop, so without giving up hope completely, you headed over there yourself.

When she wasn't there either, you thought about walking over to her house to see what was up. You had to pass by it on your way home after all, and you were pretty sure you could remember what house was hers, but after arguing with yourself for a minute, you decided against it. Maybe something really important had come up and she had to be somewhere else after school, and if that was the case, than she probably wasn't even home, you figured.

You began your slow walk home without getting any ice cream. Your appetite was lost. The sun was shining higher than it ever had before and you even stopped along the way to watch a happy bird make its nest in a tree, but a part of you couldn't help but feel let down. You'd actually been looking forward to hanging out with her after school, but she hadn't shown up.

When you turned on her street, you had every intention to walk by it without a passing glance. You figured you would just ask her the next day in first period what was up, but you halted in your footsteps for a split second when you saw her standing at her mailbox, collecting the mail. It seemed to you like she'd already been home for a while; she was wearing black sweats and a black t-shirt so she had changed out of her school clothes already. You examined your own outfit then, taking note of the significant differences in your attires; you were all about flowers and prints and bright pinks, while she had always been about blacks and dark blues and purples but that was the first moment you'd really noticed it.

You stopped in front of her driveway. Her back was to you as she rifled through the pile of mail, so you cleared your throat loudly for her to hear to make your presence known. She turned around and looked at you casually, like she wasn't even surprised to see you standing there staring at her in bewilderment. You waited for her to talk, but she said nothing, leaving you with no choice but to break the silence.

"Did you… forget?" You asked her.

"What?" she blinked as if she had no clue what you were talking about before realization apparently struck her. "Oh. Ice cream."

When you told me this story, I know you had a feeling even then that she had just been pretending she'd forgotten when in reality, even I can say that it was probably all she'd been thinking about that day at school. You never could get her to admit it though. According to her, she really did just forget by accident. But you knew and I know that in reality, she probably just… chickened out of it, maybe thinking she almost expected you to stand her up and she was trying to make some kind of point by beating you to it. At the same time, you knew you couldn't blame her for that logic. You had so many friends; it would make sense if she thought you were just asking her to hang out with you to make fun of her if she actually showed up and you didn't. But regardless of what she thought, you were the one that had been stood up that day, and I could tell when you recalled the day to me that even though you barely knew her at the time, it really did hurt your feelings, since you had actually been looking forward to it.

"You know, I waited for you for a while…" You told her, and that was the point when you realized she had blown you off on purpose, because of the look of shock you said crossed her face for a brief moment at your sincerity before covering it up with a quick "well, I forgot" and no apology.

And for some reason, it still didn't stop you from trying again.

"Well, we can go right now. Or tomorrow if you want."

I know you were hoping that she would go with you right then and there, fearful that if you waited until the next day she might blow you off again, and luckily for you, she complied.

"Fine. Be right back."

You waited for five minutes in her driveway for her to change back into her school clothes before the two of you were off and you were internally thankful that you had decided to not get ice cream after school without her. Your appetite was back.

The ten minute walk back to the ice cream shop was mostly spent with you being the one trying to start up a conversation again, which didn't really surprise you. You were expecting her to be a hard shell to crack, but for whatever reason, you knew from that moment you were willing to try for as long as it took, and it had nothing at all to do with pleasing her mother.

That day marked the start of something that would later become unbreakable; not even when you left. You're gone, but you're here. I see your reflection in her everyday.

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><p><em>AN: There is a part II to this, where it explains __why__ the story is written this way. It would be a oneshot, but due to length, it's being broken up. Also, this doesn't really follow the exact episode line up of the show. It's kind of AU. This story was inspired by a quote from Talmud; "we don't see things the way they are, we see things the way __we __are."_

_Review if you would like to see more._


	2. Part II

_Disclaimer: I don't own Victorious. I feel like I should've said that last chapter._

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><p><strong>The Way We Are<strong>

_By xHeSaidSheSaidx_

"Go away, Tori."

They were the first words I heard her speak since before you left; and even then she rarely ever spoke. At least, not to me. From my talks with you I know she spoke quite often, but only to those who she felt truly wanted to hear her. Otherwise, the only times she really held a meaningful conversation with anyone else was when she acted it out on onstage with some cast mate for some type of school production. Singing was your _true_ passion. Acting was hers.

For two months I tried to speak to her whether it was by welcoming myself to her table at lunch- she spent the majority of her time in a secluded one by the parking lot- or by showing up by her locker before school. Two whole months and I never heard her speak again until that day. It happened one day after school when I beat her to her car. I always tried to beat her to wherever her destination was but that was the first day in 60 days I'd been successful, since whenever the bell rang to signal the end of class or the school day she was quick to disappear as fast as she could. I had popped up at her house a couple of times, and her mom- the one you grew to know so well yourself, welcomed me in each time, but neither of us were ever successful enough to get her to come out of her room and do so much as show her face. I remember showing up one time when she was blasting her music so loud I could feel the vibrations of the bass beneath my feet all the way across the floor. Suzan's eyes were tired and sad and I knew just by the look on her face that trying to get her to turn her music down and come out of her room was a daily battle.

I believe it was the third time I showed up unexpectedly at her house when Suzan took me outside to have a real conversation with me of her own that for once consisted of more words than "good luck, maybe she'll talk to you since I think she's sick of me trying at this point." I never blamed her before for not saying much to me. She knew I wasn't exactly friends with her daughter to begin with. As far as she knew, I was just another one of _your_ many friends. So I think the third time I came to her house was when she realized I had no intentions of giving up on getting her daughter to speak to me- or anyone – anytime soon. That was the day she actually took my persistency to show up seriously.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she told me. "She still never comes out of her room unless it's for school or to sneak whatever food I've left out on the table for her back to her room. I'm really worried about her. She completely blames herself for what happened."

For a moment after she told me this the only sounds between us were the vibrations of the front door from the sounds of her daughter's angry rock music that were seeping through it. It was one of the first times in my life I'd ever really been at a loss for words, because I honestly didn't have much of a solution. I knew I wanted to talk to her daughter, but I also knew that if she ever actually gave me the chance, I wouldn't even really know what to say, so it's not like I could just offer up some magical solution to her mother.

I placed my hand on her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"She _will _talk to me tomorrow, whether she likes it or not."

She didn't ask me any questions about how I was going to go about that, and for that I was thankful, because if she had, again I wouldn't have had an exact answer. I think she already knew that, which is why she didn't dare to ask me. She didn't want the sliver of hope I'd instilled in her to be crushed that easily, so she offered me no more than a thankful half smile in response. The determination in my voice when I told her that struck me for a moment. I knew I probably sounded a lot more confident than I felt, but it was at least enough to motivate me further. I left that day without another word, and absolute determination on my mind to _make_ that girl speak to me once and for all.

"_Go away, Tori."_

I got the short snippet of a sentence out of her the very next day; having blown off the last fifteen minutes of sixth period to be _sure _I would beat her to the parking lot.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," I told her, blocking her way to the driver's side door. "Look Jade I know you're suffering but she was my friend too."

That must not have exactly been the right thing to say, because she looked at me with the will to stab me as if she was a mother and I'd gone and kidnapped her child, but I knew that "the right thing to say" didn't even exist with her. In her eyes, the right thing to say was _nothing_. She wanted me to leave her alone. Her persistent disinterest in me wasn't like the disinterest she displayed in you the first time you ever reached out to be her friend freshman year. With you, her uninterested persona was an act, because she only kept it up for a few more days after the day you invited her out for ice cream before taking her own efforts to make a conversation with you. It was only a month before she openly acknowledged that you were in fact, someone she considered a friend. And for the three years that lasted, you were the _only _person she considered that close.

With me, she made a point to emphasize her disinterest by keeping it up from the day you introduced me to her to that very day in the parking lot. It wasn't an act. She really didn't like me at all whereas for you, she had a very obvious soft spot.

"I don't give a fuck. Get out of my way."

Her venomous words sliced through the air like a powerful axe might slice through a thick piece of wood, but at that point, I'd had enough of giving into leaving her alone just because that was what she wanted. Before, when I would sit down at her lunch table, uninvited, it's not like she would tell me to go away. She would just shoot me this expectant glare that spoke for itself, telling me with her eyes to leave her alone. And I always listened. For two months straight- the first two months of you being gone, I listened, but enough was enough.

"No. You have to talk to someone at some point. You're only hurting yourself, and you would be hurting her too. She wouldn't want you to live like this."

"You don't know what she wanted. You don't know shit about her, Vega!"

Her words continued to sting, and I remember thinking for a brief moment; maybe it was _better _when she wasn't speaking at all. At least when she didn't talk she wasn't tearing me down personally. But then I remembered her mother, and the hopeful look that crossed her face thanks to my determination to get her daughter to talk, and I remembered the glow of your face whenever you spoke of her when she wasn't around and it was just me and you and I reminded myself that I couldn't give up. The cloudy visions of your face and her mother's face blurring my mind were the two things that kept me going.

I knew that Jade was saying those things to me just so I would give in again and go away, but there was no way she really believed them deep down. You wouldn't have wanted her to be so miserable, she knew that. I knew that and her mother knew that, I'm pretty sure even other people knew that. After a while, we_ stopped_ questioning what you saw in her as a person. People got used to seeing the two of you around together. She was still standoffish with everyone else, and even if it bothered some of us, we knew you would for some reason choose her to hang out with over anyone else any day.

"Do you honestly believe she wouldn't want you to move on with your life?"

I looked at her knowingly, and I could tell she was struggling to keep whatever amount of composure she had left. She responded to my look with a challenging one of her own, flashes of anger and hurt and everything in between engulfing her emerald eyes, jaw trembling and fists shaking.

"Look, be angry, Jade. Be angry at me! At the world, at whoever you want, just don't be angry at _yourself. _It wasn't your fault what happened. I know you think it is but it wasn't. It wasn't anyone's fault, it was an accident. It's okay to hurt, that feeling might not ever go away but that doesn't mean you should close yourself off from people who want to help you."

The words left my mouth in a jumbled up banter, like I was struggling to get out what I'd wanted to say to her for so many weeks as fast as I could before she could tell me to get lost again.

"I don't need anyone's help; much less yours," she spat at me. "But if you really want to help me, stop trying so hard. Stop acting like you know so much; telling me what she would've wanted. You didn't even _know_ her."

At first, I wasn't so sure what she meant by that. I didn't even know you? I'm pretty sure I could write a whole _book _on your feelings if I wanted. It didn't hit me until later that what she really was trying to say was that I didn't know you the way _she_ did, and that… I could probably agree with.

"I know she loved you."

Unlike my scramble to get my last banter out beforehand, that sentence came out in a whisper. It could've been the most dangerous thing to say; or it could've been the safest. The only thing I was sure of at the time was that I needed to make her realize somehow that I did in fact, know quite a lot about you, based on both facts and my own perception, because otherwise, she really would probably see all my words as bullshit forever. I had to let her know that I did have some kind of knowledge that nobody else did. It was the only way she would take me seriously, that I really did want to help her, and I wasn't there to judge. She had to know that if I could accept you and consider you as a sister like I did, I could accept her fully too, because when it came down to it, the two of you were hardly any different when it came to emotions.

The next look I got from her was one not easily comprehended. For the first time ever, it seemed like there were a million things she actually wanted to say to me, ranging all the way from "fuck off" to "what else do you know?" But it didn't take her long to tear her gaze away from me, only to apparently find herself again and glare at me once more half a second later, pretending she wasn't at all affected by my words.

Out of all the things I was sure she wanted to say, "Says who?" was the one she went with.

I knew what she was doing. She was stalling and in her own clever way trying to find out what else I knew without telling me anything herself. She knew I was right; it was written all over her face. You did love her; and she didn't need me to tell her that, she had known it for so long already. What she didn't realize was that_ I _knew it too, and it was time for me to make her realize it.

"You know its true Jade."

She didn't disagree with me. She knew that doing so would be going too far; to deny having the knowledge of it would be cruel even for her. She knew you wouldn't have wanted her to lie to me about it, so she didn't. She just cleverly avoided telling me I was right.

"That wasn't the question."

The hot Los Angeles sun casted a shine over the crown of her dark hair as it beat down on both of our heads. Students were still filing out of the parking lot in their cars more than ready to get the weekend going, but there we remained, sending unspoken challenges to each other through our eyes.

"Okay. Says me," I told her. "She didn't have to tell me what I already knew and I'm just saying that because of that; _because_ you know she cared so much about you, she wouldn't have wanted you to suffer so much, or at all. So you can't just say I didn't even know her because like I said she was my friend too."

"She was a lot of people's_ friend_," Jade snapped, as if she hated the thought. "What makes you so special that you're running to me now when I guarantee that no matter how hard she tried to make me and you become friends, we both know it never would've happened? Why are you trying so hard?"

"Well, you just answered your own question," I told her, and she looked confused for a moment.

"You just said it yourself; she tried so hard to make me and you become friends. I'm sure it bothered her at least a little bit that you didn't like _any _of her friends but I was the only one she made a constant effort to try and make you accept. We were the closest ones she had, and that's why we need to help each other now that she's gone."

There were a variety of a reasons I tried my best to reach out to Jade. You and her mother were two of them of course, but the other reasons were one, for me and two, for her. You obviously saw a lot of good in her, some kind of reflection of yourself that you wanted others to see too. I'd always tried to see it when you were still around, because you were like a sister to me, and I was willing to give your best friend a chance, but I'll admit that I still never made all that great of an effort as willing as I was. I let myself be driven away by the anger she had at the world.

But after you left, I actually _wanted_ to see it because I wanted to be able to talk to someone who knew you well if I was ever just having one of those days where I felt especially down about you being gone, and she was honestly the best person for the job. I also knew that in her case, if she ever wanted to talk to someone, I would be the best person for the job. I was always willing to listen whenever you had something to say about her, I just needed her to see that now I was willing to listen whenever she wanted to say something about you. We may have had different types of relationships with you, but you were still the one thing we had in common.

It seemed again like there were a whole bunch of things she still wanted to say, but for the first time ever, she almost looked… afraid. I was never sure whether she was more afraid of what she wanted to say or more afraid of what my responses might be, but I still had to let her know one of the main things I was getting at.

"Look, there's some things I've been wanting to tell you, and I think it's time to just put it out in the open."

"_I_ think it's time you be on your way," she fired back at me, still not wanting to hear it apparently. She tried to step around me to reach her car door, but I continue to block her path. I still wasn't about to let her go that easily. I started blurting things out, things I'd wanted her to know for the longest time that she was finally leaving me with no choice but to say to her right then and there.

"The time she made all three of us hang out at her house, you guys had already been hanging out _alone_ for hours before I got there."

"Great insight Vega," she commented sarcastically, still trying to fight her way around me. Her determinedness to get away only pushed me further to blurt things out. My arms were completely up by that point, palms positioned flat against her car on either side of me as I stepped in front of her from left to right or whatever direction she went to try to get by me.

"Your lip liner was smudged; I saw the bite mark on her neck. You guys didn't think I would notice. You were out of school sick the entire week before that, and the next Monday_ she_ just so happened to be out sick so I stopped by to drop off her homework. Valentine's Day was the next day. She let me into her room forgetting about the card she carelessly left out in the open on her desk with an envelope beside it with a very big heart drawn around 4 letters."

At last, she froze, staring at me intently with an expression I still couldn't fully read. That's the thing that's always gotten me about her; how natural it is for her to keep her face expressionless if not angry at almost all times. I took a deep breath- I needed it since I'd been talking so fast in attempt to make her listen while simultaneously having to move to keep myself in her way, but when she stopped trying to get around me, only staring at me incredulously, I could finally pause to take a breath.

"The letters were _J-A-D _and _E_," I finished. "You know what envelope I'm talking about."

I could see her trying to form an excuse in her brain. Her thin eyebrows knitted together and her expression transformed to panic. I'd revealed too much information for her to even attempt to hide the truth. I had obviously caught her off guard; she hadn't been prepared for me to put her on the spot with anything like_ that_, but I could still see the lie she was trying to create.

"You got her sick that weekend. You gave her that bite mark._ You_ were her Valentine. And why do you think whenever any of us saw you two with each other, for the most part no one tried to intervene? It was because there was a very obvious tension between the two of you that nobody ever could understand but we could still feel it, so we stayed away, we stayed out of it-"

"_Shut up."_

"If you were ever in a fight with each other or not speaking for whatever reason she cried for hours like her whole world was ending. And she didn't just ignore any negative thing someone had to say about you; she would straight up tell the person off and you _know_ how rare it was for her to get mad at anyone."

"Shut _up_, Tori!"

"You guys would also disappear mysteriously together at random times-"

"What is your_ fucking_ point?"

The way she screamed at me made the two of us receive a few looks from the last handful of our peers still hanging around the parking lot, but I hardly noticed and I could tell that she didn't either by the way her furious eyes were concentrated on me, boiling with all kinds of hate.

How dare I bring any of that up, right? I knew she was thinking it. What gave me any kind of right to point those things out, and put her on the spot like that? What made me think I deserved to ruin the secret the two of you had obviously worked so hard to keep for all those months and maybe even years? Who was_ I_ to call out Jade West?

"My point is that I don't know everything there is to know about you and her, but I know enough to figure out that there was _something _going on between you two, and it doesn't matter. She was still one of my best friends and I still want to help you get through her being gone … you have to at least be willing to _try _to heal at some point."

"No I don't!" Tears were forming beneath her mascara-brushed eyelashes and I wondered for a moment if it really was such a bad idea to push her so far. Never in my life would I have imagined that I would even be capable of making someone like her cry with my words, or even at all. I couldn't even picture her with tears rolling down her face beforehand, but there she was; her eyes a dramatic glossy green, soaked with the emotions she'd masked with anger and self hatred before. She stepped beside me since I still wasn't out of her way, pressing her forehead to the warm metal body of her car.

"I don't deserve to heal."

"Yes you-"

"You don't even know what happened!" She whirled away from where her forehead rested on her car to scream at me. The parking lot had thankfully cleared out at last. I was trying my best to remain calm; despite the fact that she was breaking down right in front of me, but I'll admit it was a bit of a struggle. She was right. I didn't know exactly what happened. No one did, we only had a vague understanding of it but as one of your best friends I always ached to know more.

"It was an accident," I repeated to her.

"It could've been avoided if it wasn't for me," she told me in a dangerously low whisper. I swallowed hard. All I knew from her mother was that she blamed herself but it wasn't until that actual day that I discovered she was actually there to witness your last few moments. I couldn't say that I was surprised though; I actually should've figured that. I knew you'd spend every moment with her if you could've, so it didn't come as a shock that she was there with you your last day, your last hour, and your last _moment _as well.

"Tell me what happened," I kept my voice as gentle as I could, turning to face her as she rested her head against her car again, like revisiting the incident was making her physically sick or dizzy. It took her a while to speak but I gave her all the time she needed, looking to her patiently in silence, waiting for her to go on. It got to the point where I almost thought she wasn't going to say anything at all, and for that brief moment, my hope was crushed until at last, she actually opened her mouth to speak again, her words coming out shakily. I knew instantly it was the first time she was speaking of what happened, and I couldn't help but feel like I'd accomplished something huge.

She told me about that very evening two months prior, how she was craving to do something dangerous, how she convinced you to visit that secluded area of the ocean with her after almost an hour of persuasion and sweet talk. She knew you were afraid of bodies of water outside your bathtub but she wanted to help you face your fear while at the same time doing something to satisfy her yearns for danger. So she finally convinced you, and the two of you were off, running all the way down the road down to the beach with your bags and your flip flops, giggling with excitement at your own sneakiness as the sun had already begun to set around you. All was going surprisingly well, she said. After only twenty minutes, you were splashing around with a smile on your face like you owned that ocean- like nothing outside of that body of water existed, and you two were the only ones in it. Nobody else was around; the place had been closed off for a while, something about strong currents at that time of year. She said that to reassure you you'd both be okay, she told you that all the talk about currents was a bunch of BS; that "assholes with boats just wanted an excuse to have the place to themselves whenever they wanted without having to worry about swimmers so that's why they closed the place off." She said that if anything, you two ended up being thankful the area had been closed off because it meant that due to you two sneaking in, it was like having a little private beach all to yourselves.

Eventually, she remembered, you wanted to play Marco Polo, but she wasn't exactly comfortable with not being able to keep a total eye on you just in case something did go wrong, since you were new to swimming in a wide area, but one bribery kiss was all it took for you to convince her. She also said that giving into that kiss of yours was the worst mistake she'd made in her life.

You were Marco, she was Polo. She did that on purpose so she could still keep her eyes open on you while you swam around looking for her with your eyes closed, but after five times of her playing Polo you wanted a turn. She refused to let you; claiming she didn't trust that you might not accidentally go out too far. It turned into a small argument, she said; she tried to work around it by saying it was getting late anyways, and the two of you should probably just get going, but you wouldn't have it. You absolutely refused to leave that ocean without getting a turn to be the one calling out "polo!" at least once.

One time couldn't hurt, she thought finally, and eventually gave in. So you started your game; each time she called out "Marco," eyes closed, you responded with "Polo!" and a giggle, inching a little bit farther out into the water each time. She said that one particular time, your voice sounded a little too far away, and she realized that around her the current did seem to be getting stronger. She told me you probably didn't realize the current had carried you out a little bit too far, but sure enough, when she sprang her eyes open, you were a good 45 ft further out than she was. At first she was angry with you; frustrated, at the least. She'd made you promise not to go out too far, but when she screamed at you to get your ass back to her, any ounce of anger she felt towards you vanished when she saw the panic in your eyes as you began to fight against the current on your struggle to swim back.

She swam after you; the current dragging her out as well, but it was only seconds before those 45 ft turned into 100 and before she knew it your head was going under and resurfacing dozens of times over and over again and the only sounds she could hear were the crashing waves and the sound of your coughing.

She eventually caught up to you, but at that point you weren't kicking or coughing anymore. Your body was well engulfed underwater; she had to swim down quite a way to grab you and pull you back up. When she resurfaced with you, your eyes were closed, dark lashes glimmering with clear wet beads of water. The current eased up just enough for her to make it back to the shore with you with only the force of one arm and her legs, since her other arm was wrapped securely around you, supporting you, and your body hung limp against hers.

She told me about how she laid you out in the sand as the waves continued to crash behind her. Your bag was the first one she saw laying in the sand where you'd left it, so the first thing she did was grab your phone and dial 911. You still had a pulse, she said; you were unresponsive and didn't even seem to be breathing but that faint pulse was the one thing giving her hope. She clung to your body, whispering your name but her cries to you became more and more panicked as your pulse began to fade. She took a brief CPR lesson once in preparation for a life guard role she landed in a middle school play, so she spent the time it took until the ambulance showed up desperately trying her hardest to pump oxygen back into you from her own body using the little prior knowledge she had from that lesson. The boxy truck showed up in no more than two minutes, but it wasn't fast enough.

Like the rest of you, your pulse gave out before you made it to the stretcher.

She told me she considered throwing herself back into the ocean at that point and that sometimes, when she was locked up in her room, blaring her music so loud the neighbors could hear; she still thought about going back.

By the time she finished her story, the parking lot was absolutely deserted; even the school faculty had already packed it up and left. Jade and I were seated side by side with a foot of space between us on the ground beside her car, the sun seemed dimmer than before, and she wasn't the only one in tears.

The look on her face was a mix of pain, remorse, and nostalgia.

"It's just crazy how what started out as one of the best days of my life could turn into the absolute worst," she concluded, voice broken, a true match with the rest of her, and flat.

I told her how sorry I was, unsure if anyone else had even bothered to say that to her yet. As far as I knew her mother and I were the only ones that had really tried to speak to her since your passing, which actually made my heart hurt. Everybody knew she meant everything to you, and I'm sure they knew that was reciprocated, so as much as I know she would've refused to accept it from anyone, she deserved more sympathy. With you leaving our world, she probably suffered close to the most out of anyone. The whole school was off for several weeks when the news broke out the very next day. I remember rehearsing a song with Andre' in my living room when I got the call from your father in the emergency room the very night it happened, voice choked with sobs. One of the most terrifying things I'm sure you could imagine is answering the phone to the heart wrenching sounds of a grown man crying. From what he told me, your mother was in an even worse condition than he, and refused to speak to anyone. Your brother was having a hard time even processing what was happening around him in all the hustle and bustle of the noisy emergency room. Your father just wanted to get the message out to a couple of your closer friends before we heard it on the news.

The school hosted what they expected to be a small gathering in the library the following Monday at school for students who knew you to come and mourn together. School work was the last thing on anyone's mind. They didn't expect that we'd have to all be moved to the gymnasium when over half the school ended up cramming into the small pathetic Hollywood Arts library, over 80 percent of us in tears. That was how many people remembered you and were devastated enough to blow off class for over half the day. Ironically speaking, the one person that was no doubt devastated the most was the one I noticed didn't show up to the library or gym to mourn with the rest of us. In fact, she hadn't even been at school that day. She didn't even show up to homeroom until two weeks later.

The school slowly started to return to normal- or what was normal for Hollywood Arts, about three or four weeks after the day of that gathering in the gym, but two months down the line and Jade was still suffering like not even an hour had passed. That day in the parking lot, when we ended up sitting outside her car talking for hours longer after she told me every detail she remembered about the night of your passing, she told me that she_ still_ wouldn't be at school if she had a choice. Her mom was generous enough to let her stay home for two weeks but eventually had to force her to go back to school, asserting that she couldn't afford to miss anymore. I knew she still blew off half her classes at least two or three times a week, though. That was a part of the reason why it had been so hard to talk to her for two months straight; I rarely ever saw her anymore. I don't think anyone did, but on that faithful day in the school parking lot, I had finally hunted her down and given us both that chance to talk to someone who could relate to the pain we were both engulfed in. I know she'll never admit it, but I could tell just talking about everything up to that point did help her, if even the tiniest bit, because I could tell that in what ended up being a whopping three hour discussion, everything she was pouring out of her chest had been a bunch of build up, and even she must've known somewhere in the far back of her mind that it was bad to keep things bottled up.

She eventually asked me how I was getting home. I'm sure she knew from you that I didn't have my license, and I usually caught rides with my sister from place to place, so I told her the truth; I was planning on walking home. I was caught quite a bit off guard when she looked me directly in the eye at that moment and offered me a ride home. I could do little more than stare blankly back at her for a second or two, wondering at what point in the conversation had she really decided to stop shutting me out so much and go so far to actually offer me a favor, because three hours prior, I'm almost positive I was just about at the top of her most hated people list, but I decided not to push my luck by questioning it.

"That would… be great actually, thank you," I told her. Things only got crazier after that.

"I'm going to stop by my place first," she stated almost awkwardly as she raised herself to her feet, wiping dried tears from her chin and cheeks. "I have something you should have too."

So for the first time ever, she took me to her home willingly. I'll never forget the look on Suzan's face when we entered the house together, giving me an even deeper sense of accomplishment. Jade walked by her mother without a word, ushering me to follow. I definitely didn't miss the small "thank you" Suzan mouthed to me as I passed by.

When I entered Jade's room, she stood awkwardly in the center, obviously a bit weary to have me there in her personal space. I could tell that to her, taking me into her personal space was like taking me into her personal life. A girl's room is her _sanctuary_, where her most private things and thoughts are kept, especially when it was the room of Jade West who had spent her last two months locked up in the place with nowhere else to go. I tried not to let my eyes wander too much around the place I'm sure you became more than familiar with, but above all her gloomy posters and strange little trinkets and collection of scissors hanging a wall, the one thing that really captured my eye was the Little Mermaid body pillow resting neatly on her messy bed.

"Cat was the only other person I ever let in here," she mumbled, parting me from my trance. Her eyes followed mine to the three foot long pillow, and for a split second I swear I could see her face redden out of the corner of my eye. She told me you left the pillow at her house after one sleepover but when you tried to take it home the next time you were over she wouldn't let you. She said with a sad half smile that Ariel's red mane of hair always reminded her of you and having that pillow there was a way of having you at all times even when you weren't around, and that she kept an old DVD copy of the movie she'd pirated from online under her bed and pulled it out to watch almost every weekend because that just so happened to be your favorite movie too. That was something that even I didn't know about you- that the Little Mermaid was your favorite movie, but it didn't surprise me.

I pictured Jade curled up with her special pillow watching the movie alone on a Friday night while other people our age were out partying and getting into all other kinds of mischief, and the thought caused a whole bunch of conflicting emotions to wash over me. It was both sad and sweet at the same time, and at that moment, more than ever, I wanted so bad to help her get through your death in the healthiest possible way. I was hurting. She was broken. I had other friends that knew you but none of them anywhere near as well as she did. I needed a friend like her, and she needed a friend at all. And that day, by spending hours talking to me in the parking lot and offering me a ride home and bringing me into her own private sanctuary, she did something that I knew from talking to you that she never did. She opened up herself to someone new even in the smallest of ways. I knew it was nothing compared to the way she opened herself up to you. I'm not exactly sure what you and her even had, all I know is it was something undeniably special and I was not ever about to judge either one of you for it. I didn't expect to replace you with her as my best friend, and I knew you could never be replaced in her eyes. I didn't want you to be replaced be either of us in any way; I just knew we could both be useful to each other in _some _way.

After telling me her explanation of the pillow and Little Mermaid DVD, she headed over to her desk and brought me back a large brown candle that was sitting there. It scented of cinnamon buns. She said she had two of them- that they were your absolute favorite scent and you gave them to her one day only a few months beforehand because you thought she deserved to bask in their wonderful scent as well. She told me she never really lit them much before, but after your passing she lit both candles every afternoon and blew them out right before bed but the wax never came close to wearing out. She said she expected that each one would last at least a year, because that's how strong they were, and that as long as each one was lit she took it as a sign from you from wherever you may be now in the universe that everything would be okay.

At that moment, when she handed me the candle, I saw a person that remembered to appreciate and care for the little things certain people, you specifically, like. I saw that she had paid attention to the little details about you and the things that made you happy, and that's when it hit me that you were right. I realized that the way we see others really says a lot about the way we see ourselves. You never saw Jade as a bitch like some others did. You saw her as a person who was capable of liking the same things you did and I think you saw that in her from the very beginning and that's why you decided to reach out to her even though no one else had bothered. Now whenever I go over to her house and see her Little Mermaid pillow case and her lit cinnamon bun candle that now matches the one in my bedroom that was yours that she gave me, I see it too.

It's been 13 months since your passing to date. Not too long ago she told me she started writing to you in a journal every night. I asked her if it was okay if I copied her idea. I spent a lot of nights before that staring up at my ceiling, sometimes forming pretend conversations with you in my brain as if you could hear me wherever you are, so to me, the journal thing was a brilliant idea so I could actually document the things I wanted to say to you.

I just thought you should somehow know the story of how she and I became friends and each other's guide through the painful journey that began 13 months ago. This has been my first journal entry and although it's coming to an end now, just know that the memory of you continues to live on in our hearts forever. For me, as a sister, my best friend and my confidant, and for her, as a lover, a best friend, and so many other things I still can't fully explain.

It's been over a year now, but both of our candles still burn bright in your favor, assuring us every day that things will be alright.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So this turned out to be the longest thing I've written for one chapter in over a year. I hope those of you that read through it liked it. Hopefully you guys like long chapters. _

_ I will appreciate it more than anything if you let me know what you think, I'll probably reply telling you how much I love you or something for reviewing, but not in a creepy way. :p Come on, you know you want to press that pretty little review button down below. You're seriously awesome if you do. Thank you to everyone who reviewed part one :3_


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